


Bertie and the Helping Hand

by MembraneLabs



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Alternate Universe, Genderswap, Ships Passing In the Night, female!Bertie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MembraneLabs/pseuds/MembraneLabs
Summary: "I...I really can't say Stiffy. It's just extraordinary. Like watching people decorating for the holidays through a keyhole, but you can't get in because you don't have the key."





	Bertie and the Helping Hand

Truth be told I was taught at a very young age by my supposed betters to never speak ill of another person, but as much as I'm fond of her, sometimes Stiffy gets me into the most horrid situations that one simply feels the need to brush the dirt of acquaintanceship off one's feet and never speak to or of her again. 

But therein lies the problem, for deep down in the very heart of the Code of the Woosters (for, I am a Wooster you see, and surely the last of them in name and spirit) is the unspeakable understanding that no matter what and regardless, one never turns one's back on one's old school chums. 

Although the desire to fall behind said school chum sometimes while walking and give her a good boot in the bum does seem to rear its' wicked head every N. and T.

But I am getting beyond the scope of the story here, for the event that this tale mentions is but a minor wassit, infraction against my persons. Sure, Stiffy was up to her usual what ho, but this isn't a story about Stiffy. In fact, the less of Stiffy the better. But I'm recollecting this short tale because for some reason it has been lying heavy on this old Wooster heart of mine, but for the life of me, I can't figure why. I've the oddest weight in my soul, like I've missed a train I knew I'd never would have been able to catch in the first place, and I can't make sense as to why it's bothering me so.

But I've gotten well ahead of myself again. So, back to the start then.

I had been taken for a trip into London by my Aunt Agatha. Now Lord knows I owe the old battle-ax my life and over in gratitude for being half of the forces who took me in and saw to my raising after my parents died. But that's just the jist of it, for the old girl is like a battle-ax, and no soul is safe from her soul-wilting presence. Most times I am able to escape her by visiting my aunt Dahlia for good, long visits--

But this are trifles, trifles to the story at hand! 

Well, she was off, seeing after the affairs of a cousin of mine and I was enjoying that rare time away from her by taking a stroll through a nearby park. 

Well this is the part that I should mention that Stiffy was in the metrop, and we had met up, so I was with Stiffy, so she is in the story, but I shall try to keep her Stiffy-ness to a min. 

She of course had that horrid dog Bartholomew with her. I greatly dislike that dog. Lucky for us, it was running ahead, yapping about, and I was allowed some respite from the creature. We were talking about this and that, nothing of real import., when we heard that dog of hers give a particularly nasty yelp.

"Bartholomew?" Stiffy called, worried something fierce. But the dog was no where to be seen. She picked up her pace, but I held my own, sure there was no real trouble the blasted dog could have gotten into it. 

"Bartholomew?" she called again. 

The yelping seemed to be coming from some trees near the walkway, but once again I thought nothing of it.

It was then I noticed a group of men making their way in the opposite direction  
a tad too quickly for suspicion not to set. And there was a back amongst them that I bally well knew well, as he was over my Aunt Dahlia's often enough beauing my coz Angela while eating Anatole's creations of the gastronomic sort.

"Tuppy Glossup!" I called out, and he gave start at that. He paused, and waved at me in a manner most uncomfortable. 

Well, now my curiosity was most piqued. 

"Fancy seeing you, Bertie, old girl," he called back. "But have to run back to the Drones, you know, ta ta!" he said, all while trying to follow the other's in their escape.

The reason for his hurry was soon QUITE clear.

"Bartholomew! What are you doing up there!" Stiffy said, the very picture of motherly concern and worry.

The dog was up in a tree. And having overheard about one or two of the sort of pranks the members of the Drones play--well, let us just say that it made perfect sense why Tuppy and his fellow chums were too busy leaving the park to offer a proper hello-goodbye.

"Good lord! They put your dog up the tree!" I exclaimed.

Stiffy looked near to tears. The dog was more looking on the anxious side. 

"Oh, you must get him down!" she cried.

"Well yes but--me!"

"Oh please Bertie, you must get him down for me!"

"Now see here, Stiffy, I'd have to climb the tree!"

"But I couldn't possible do it, I'm wearing my good clothes!"

"Well so am I, Stiffy!"

"But you'd manage it so much better than me, Bertie, you're taller than I am, you'd reach the branches much easier!"

"Now see here--"

The dog gave another frightful yelp.

"Oh please, Bertie, before he tries to jump down and breaks one of his bones and dies!"

There is no reasoning with a woman terrified for her dog. And frankly, she was so terribly strung out over it all I couldn't just stand there and refuse to aid her. The Code and all. Good clothes be damned. 

Getting up the tree was no trouble at all, really. Well, a bit of trouble, but only a bit. It was just bothersome, how high Tuppy and his had shoved the dog in the tree. Grabbing the dog was likewise no real trouble, just an issue of balance really.

Getting down, now, that was where the canker gnawed.

"Stiffy, I can't find my footing back down," I said, struggling to hold Bartholomew as he struggled to get free. You think the dog could get it in it's head that my arms were loads safer than falling to the ground, but no!

She came around the other side of the tree. "If you lower Bartholomew, I can just reach him," she said, reaching up.

So there I was, hanging over a tree limb, trying to lower the squirming Bartholomew to the ground, when I lost my blasted grip and dropped the dog. Stiffy caught him, luckily, but sort of fumbled the catch and Bartholomew got loose, no doubt glad to be on solid ground again. He immediately took off in the direction Tuppy had gone, eager to give the old boy a piece of his mind about being put up trees, no doubt.

Of course, regardless of my sharpest protests, Stiffy ran after him.

Much as I like the old girl, she does seem to leave me hanging quite a bit. And this time, quite literally.

I just couldn't find my footholds again, and was rather draped over a branch, trying to keep my balance while hugging the trunk and trying to find some place to put my feet. I had a rather distinct mental image of what a fool I must have looked like just then, and the thought was most unpleasant. I wondered how long I would be stuck up in that tree, trapped until either I could no longer find the strength to hold on to the trunk, or my Aunt Aggie found me. 

"Excuse me, miss, but do you require assistance?"

Facing the trunk I had no clue as to who the voice might have belonged to, but to my ears it was heavenly. The cavalry had arrived, and without me even knowing that there was a cavalry to begin with.

"If it isn't too much of a bother, then yes please!" I replied, perhaps a touch to desperate. But it was a desperate situation, after all.

"Very well, miss, now, if you would carefully lower your right foot--"

I did as he said, but it only caused my body to slip further down the trunk, still no footholds to be found. "No offense, old boy, but there's nothing there," I said, straining to hold on.

Just a little further, miss," he said, and I found my foot resting securely in something that felt most hand-like.

"Oh."

"If you would also check your skirt, miss,"

"Oh!" Embarrassing to admit but not hard to imagine it happening, that one's skirt should begin to ride up a bit. I fixed what I could with one hand.

"Very good, miss, now, carefully..."

I slid further down the tree, but the gentleman held me firm, until my hand was in his, my foot on his knee, and soon enough my being back where it belong, on good terra firma. Only then could I turn to face my rescuer. 

"Is all well, miss?" he asked. I must have been staring--Aunt Agatha says I stare like a brainless guppy sometimes. But he was a striking man, the sort that looked like he went about rescuing hapless girls stuck in trees all the time. A real noble-y sort. 

"Oh yes, yes, thank you!" I blurted. My stockings were ripped something terribly, my clothing covered in bark, and I wouldn't have been surprised if a bird's nest had been caught in my hair. But I was relieved, and oddly at ease. Laughing, I threw out my hand for a shake. "Thank you so very much, Mr..."

"Jeeves, miss," he said, gently taking my hand and giving the politest of hand shakes.

"Wooster. Bertrice Wooster. I am. That is," I said, once again letting my mouth get away from me. I gave another short laugh as I tried to brush the bark off.

"If I may, Miss Wooster?" he asked, and after giving a nod, he gave my shoulders a quick brush, and gently detangled a twig from my hair. 

"Thanks so much again, Mr. Jeeves," I offered, as he did so. "Usually us Woosters have no trouble getting ourselves out of binds and whatnot, but, what, with Stiffy scampered after her dog, sometimes--"

"A helping hand is required, miss?" he finished, giving a most polite smile.

"Hit the bee on the bonnet, Mr. Jeeves!" 

He stepped back and touched the brim of his hat. "A good day to you, miss," he offered.

"Oh," I frowned, and a sharp sense of uncertainty came over me. Oddest feeling, like he shouldn't have had to be going. 'But that makes no sense, Bertie old thing!', you'd say, 'You just met the chap under straining circumstances, it's not odd at all that he should be going on his way!'

"Miss?"

"Oh, right-ho! A good day to you too, Mr. Jeeves," I said, forcing cheer in my voice though that nagging bit still buzzed about my heart.

When he had gone, I fell quite silent. There something to be said, of a brooding Wooster--doesn't happen often, but when melancholy descends it comes on frightfully strong. I had the most extraordinary feeling of 'how am I suppose to get on now?'.

"Most extraordinary," I said, looking back at the tree I had just descended from. 

"What is Bertie?"

Stiffy had returned, dog firmly in tow.

"I...I really can't say Stiffy. It's just extraordinary. Like watching people decorating for the holidays through a keyhole, but you can't get in because you don't have the key."

"Oh Bertie, you say some of the oddest things sometimes."

And that was that.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Livejournal 4/26/06, uploaded for posterity. Original post notes below:
> 
> "Gender-switch AU?! For Jeeves and Wooster!? Good god, girl, what have you been smoking!?!"
> 
> ...This really did strike me rather fiercely last night, while I SHOULD have been writing my research paper. Now, I love gender-switch stories something fierce but for some reason the idea of gender-switching Bertie was entirely bitter--after all, you can't have a gentleman's person gentleman if you are a GIRL. And i try to push girl!Bertie out of my head but she was so blasted stubborn I finally understood how Jeeves feels about those damnable ties! So, this short thingamabob happened. This is about as angsty as I get (which really isn't angsty at all...meh) and it makes me want to hug Bertie something terribly.
> 
> And BTW, I've writing on only the DVD's and one book, so now's as good a time as any to write an AU!


End file.
